you fill me up
by colourwhirled
Summary: Katara contemplates her recent breakup over a drink at the bar. Fate sends a hint in the form of an old friend.
1. letting go

**disclaimer:** post-finale AU but canon-compliant. i've tried to keep this somewhat faithful to the comics as well but as i have never read those trainwrecks in full, i'm not promising much accuracy beyond general plot points (aka the extent of my knowledge) ...& as always, atla is property of bryke, but zutara belongs to us

 **author's notes.** i didn't really expect to contribute to zutara month this year, but this was knocking around in my head for a while and what the hell, why not.

this was supposed to be light, short, and sweet. naturally, it's become somewhat the opposite of that because apparently i only write in one fucking flavour

title (and general attempt at mood) come from henry saiz's 'fill me up' and all its over-the-top euphoric 80s-inspired synthy drama.

happy holidays, everyone!

* * *

PART ONE. letting go

Dark wood, dark night, dark thoughts. Her insides are hollow but the space immediately next to the bar is packed. Music's too loud to make conversation a realistic possibility; the air's so stuffy she's almost glad that she came wearing the sluttiest top she owns. Everyone's come here to escape, after all, and she's no different.

She catches the eye of the cute bartender, waves him down for a gin and tonic. She watches him work, fingers methodically measuring and pouring, face kind, smirk devilish.

"Alone tonight, sweetheart?" he asks, raising his voice so she can hear him over the din.

The clear drink slides across the counter. She wraps her fingers around it, cool citrusy liquid sloshing at glass corners. "And every night after that," she concedes sarcastically, raising her cup in a mock toast. "Because guess who's single now!"

She takes a slow sip of her drink. It's strong but not too strong, the gin clean and cold, bursting through tangy tonic freshness.

The bartender's eyes widen as he leans forward. "Oh, no way! You too, huh?"

Katara sizes him up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Is he making a pass at her? Should she flirt back? "You didn't...also...just break up with your boyfriend of four years, did you?"

The words slip out of her mouth clumsily. She'd thump herself on the forehead if she could, but she can barely move thanks to the people crowding around her, pinning her arms to her sides. _Smooth,_ she chides herself, _real smooth._

The bartender's smirk only widens, in a _well-how-did-you-guess_ sort of way, but he shakes his head. "Nah, _my_ boyfriend's waiting for me back home," he quips without missing a beat, and she blinks, momentarily taken aback. "But another one of my patrons is also out here nursing his broken heart tonight." He shakes his head again. "Looks like fate."

"Looks like," Katara replies uncertainly. She wonders how she's supposed to process this tidbit of information now that she's nineteen and newly single with her cleavey top and smoky eyes. "Is this patron of yours...cute?"

The bartender grins wickedly. "Cute? Sweetheart, he's delicious!" He winks at her. "I should go top him up. But I'll be sure to tell him you asked!"

And with that the bartender disappears, out of sight and out of mind. Leaving Katara alone with her thoughts and the comforting burn of gin.

She isn't sad that it's over, she decides to the sound of chatter muffled by bright music and ice cubes clinking softly in her glass. After all, she's learned so much about herself during her time with Aang. Enough to know that it wasn't either of their faults that it didn't work out. They just needed different things from each other. He was always leaving her behind to go chase his next big adventure. But she needed someone by her side, to help her take root and grow. He expected her to wait in constant adoration, changing her shape like water to fill spaces where she didn't belong. But she's always preferred to carve her own way, whittling away at the world like it's just stone, until it fits to accommodate _her_.

She's on the cusp of womanhood, burgeoning with potential and hungry for life. She's a storm wrapped up in sunshine and optimism, rough edges peeking through the push and pull of her will. And he wanted her to bury all that beneath soft clouds and perfection, serve it all up on an altar as high as the pedestal he put her on.

He wanted more than she could willingly give without losing herself.

So, heart heavy but spirits feather-light, she'd kissed him on the cheek and said goodbye. Traveled back to Ba Sing Se, where Sokka and Suki were more than happy to have her crash on a futon in their new apartment on the middle ring. Absently sought out the Jasmine Dragon where she knew a cup of tea and some sound advice would always be waiting. But the teashop brought with it no small slew of discomfiting memories - _first kiss with Aang_ being a prime contender - and so she walked right past it, drawn inexorably to the dimly lit bar down the street instead.

No sooner has she drained her glass down to the dregs than the cute bartender reappears with a new bounce in his step. Dimples flash in his cheek as he slides another drink over to her.

She pauses, frowning at the blue martini in its elegant tapered glass sitting by her elbow. "I didn't order that," she points out thickly, wondering if the bartender's confused her for someone else.

But he smirks at her instead. "I know," he announces, leaning toward her to give her a quick wink. "Courtesy of my...other...single patron. He hopes it'll make your night a little better."

Her back stiffens and she whips her head around, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious stranger, but everything is far too crowded. "That's nice of him," she stutters, wondering if it's actually just niceness or something a little less innocent. What sort of guy would just buy a drink for a girl he's never even met, just because she happened to be newly single too? Is she wandering into a dangerous trap of expectations and reciprocations and obligations by accepting it? What if the bartender spiked the drink?

"He seems like a nice guy," the bartender agrees with a nod. "Lonely, though."

A pang goes through her at that and she feels bad for her initial suspicions. Because she knows what being lonely feels like, even when she was with Aang, and it somehow feels diminished now that she's here by herself (which is crazy to think about), but not nearly enough. "I'm sorry to hear that," she says simply.

The bartender quirks an eyebrow as she takes the martini glass by the stem. "Anything you'd like me to tell him for you?"

She pauses, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks in spite of herself. Reflexively tamps it down because _what will Aang think_ , and then fights that reflex almost immediately because it doesn't matter what Aang thinks anymore. She's single and perfectly able to accept a drink from a guy at the bar if she wants.

Which, come to think of it, she does. Because the whole thing screams of something equal parts kindness and smooth, smooth confidence, so why the hell not?

"Tell him thank you," she instructs him, leaning forward in a show of what she hopes looks like self-assurance. "And that I hope his night picks up too –" and with a stroke of brilliance, she coyly adds, " – and while you're at it, send him another drink on me."

The bartender's grin is wide enough to split his face in two, and Katara gets the sneaking suspicion that right now, she is positively making his night. "Yes ma'am," he acquiesces. "What would you like to get him?"

Katara pauses, wondering what was appropriate to send to a kind, recently-single, allegedly _deliciously_ cute gentleman she's never met. Her knowledge is woefully limited, in large part because Aang didn't drink and therefore in his presence, neither had she. "I don't know," she admits haplessly, face falling. "What do you think he'd like?"

"Mm…" the bartender scratches at his chin, "he's been sipping whiskey on the rocks all night, but he seems more like an old fashioned kind of guy, if you ask me."

"Get him an old fashioned then," she decides, savouring a thrill of excitement she hasn't let herself feel in years. "And tell him to live a little." Watching the bartender quickly assemble the stiff amber drink, she sends her own personal, private regards to this mysterious stranger, whoever he was, and hoped that his night was going a bit better than hers at least.

She takes a sip of the blue martini and it's absolutely delicious: sharp, sweet, going down like juice but with a bit of an edge. Perfect for her. She should ask the bartender what it's called; she could drink this all night.

A part of her can't help but be intrigued by this stranger. Who he is, how old, what he looks like - that type of thing. Was he recently widowed? Broken up with a long-term but ultimately incompatible partner, like her? She settles on the latter, constructing other details of her fantasy, fuelled in part by the blue martini easing its way down her throat.

Light hair or dark? Lean or muscular? Friendly and talkative, or strong and silent? She sifts through each of the possibilities, custom-creating a perfect stranger that she can spend the rest of the night talking to. Someone who doesn't remind her of Aang at all, someone who wouldn't need to be mothered or coddled or protected, who'd listen to her quiet concerns and fight by her side. Who'd take a bolt of lightning to the heart for her and expect nothing in return.

Her mouth twists at the memory, but not nearly as sharply as her stomach does. She'd buried it during the early years of being with Aang – because some thoughts just made everything unnecessarily complicated. But as her relationship wore on and she became increasingly aware that Aang was not the perfect partner she thought he was when she was a naïve fifteen-year-old, she finds herself swimming in those memories more and more often. How everything went down, how things could have been different, if only she'd been a little wiser or a little bolder…

But the reality of it was that she was young and hopeful, with her head so full of stories about the Avatar that there wasn't really room for anyone else. Not even for the honourable, slightly awkward Fire Nation prince who'd turned on his father, turned the tide of the war, and saved her life. Who'd unexpectedly dug a place in her heart, first with the touch of her fingers against his scar, then with his unwavering support as he helped her confront her mother's killer, and finally, the sound of his voice screaming as he threw his body between her and the lightning, blue as the drink in her glass. For a moment, the taste of it feels electric on her tongue, every last nerve buzzing…

It took another scar – the star-shaped one over his heart with her name written on it – and his quiet, rasping voice thanking her – as if she'd been the one to almost die for him – to question everything she'd taken as a given. To open her eyes to another possibility – that maybe there was a reason that things between them were strained and uncomfortable, even as it was becoming clear to her that there was nobody else who really understood her.

But then the war was over and in the blink of an eye, he'd gotten back together with Mai and that was the end of that. So, without really talking about it, or thinking about it even, she shrugged off the disappointed thing sinking slowly in her chest and went on with her life the way it was supposed to go. Aang won the war, and she became his girlfriend, and that's all she could be. Things between her and Zuko – once so breathlessly precious – now felt…incomplete and inappropriately tense. Whether by chance or yet another unspoken understanding, they drifted. Perhaps for the better.

"He was _really_ touched by the gesture," the bartender announces triumphantly as he reappears, snapping out of her uncomfortable reverie. "He says you shouldn't have. But he's grateful all the same."

A smile works its way onto her face, because even though she has no idea who this strange man is, it lightens her spirits to make someone happy. "He's one to talk. Besides, I wanted to," she points out, gesturing at her martini glass. Half of it is gone already. "This is _really_ good, by the way. I think I might make it my go-to drink from now on."

"You're welcome," the bartender sings in a simpering voice, and Katara laughs because this is exactly the type of light-hearted nonsense she misses. "He really liked his drink too, if you were wondering. He wondered where it had been all his life."

"I'm glad," Katara laughs, "but I can't claim all the credit for that."

"I have a steady hand," the bartender brags humbly. "It's an art."

 _Apparently so is matchmaking_ , Katara thinks to herself, but she doesn't say anything. Truth be told, she's rather enjoying the harmlessly intriguing flirtation even if it means she might be getting set up by the bartender. "Tell me more about this guy," she orders, resting her chin on a hand. "What does he look like?"

"Well, he's definitely tall and mysterious," the bartender declares, planting both hands on the dark wooden countertop.

"Mysterious?" Katara's brow furrows in curiosity at the word. "How so?"

"Well he's got this dark cloak and hood on, so I couldn't really see much of his face," the bartender explains, rubbing at his jaw in thought.

Katara's frown deepens. "I thought you said he was cute!" she complains, feeling distinctly cheated.

The bartender shrugs. "He _is_ , from what I could see anyway. My intuition is never wrong about these things, trust me."

She raises an eyebrow, feeling more and more like she should just chalk the whole thing up to bad judgment, finish her drink, and walk back to Sokka and Suki's apartment before either of them got back home.

"I told him you were gorgeous, in case you were wondering," the bartender continues blithely.

Katara flushes a deep purple that she hopes isn't too visible in the dim light, but the way he chuckles in response suggests otherwise. "Was that before or after he sent me the drink?"

"After," the bartender reassures her. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not a total amateur."

"Do you…always…try to set your patrons up like this?" Katara asks stiffly, wondering why she isn't more affronted at his meddling involvement when she's only just met him and her personal affairs are frankly none of his business.

But he gives her such a dazzling smile she can't hold it against him. "I just want people to be happy," he proclaims. "And you two give off such similar vibes, I thought you might enjoy each other's company. That's all."

"Similar vibes?" Katara echoes, wondering if the blue martini and loud music are screwing with her ears.

"Yeah." The bartender nods. "Like you'd do well enough on your own, but you still look sad and lonely."

"I'm not sad!" Katara denies hotly, flinching at the assessment. "Breaking it off with Aang was the best thing I ever did for myself."

"That's great, sweetheart." And to his credit, he says it sincerely, not condescendingly or doubtfully, which makes her perk up a bit. "But you're not lonely at all?"

His question catches her off guard. She thinks of the last four years, how they dragged at her like an anchor tied to her foot. Being overshadowed by the Avatar and his importance. Spoken over at every turn until she felt like she was losing her voice. How liberating it feels to be able to sit here and not worry about his jealousy, his fragile feelings, any of it. And how being alone in a crowd isn't nearly as awful as feeling alone with him.

"Not as much as I used to be," she confesses, but then a thought niggles at her. "But I guess I've always been a little lonely. I don't know, maybe I'm just used to it."

The bartender only looks at her sympathetically, before he disappears again. Katara follows his retreat with her gaze until the crowd of people swallows him up.

She swirls the blue drink absently, something inside her slumping at the admission. Because it's true, and maybe it is a little sad. Sad that it's taken this long to realize it, sad that she doesn't really know what to do about it.

Growing up, Sokka always had Dad to idolize. He leaned on her too, trying to fill the absence created by the loss of their mother. But that void's always stayed empty for her. She used to think that by becoming that figure for everyone else – Sokka, Aang, even Toph – it'd mend the gnawing tearing hole inside that made her miss Mom so much.

But only now does she realize that it's only made her shoulder more than she should, without help. And worse, she doesn't even know how to be anything else.

 _I didn't have to be that way for Zuko_ , she recalls, her mouth twisting as it does whenever she thinks of him these days. _I didn't have to look after him. I didn't have to pretend. I could just…be._

Being around him didn't make her tired of being herself. And the more she understands this, the more she realizes that she misses him, misses their friendship, hates that they've drifted so far out of touch that she can't even stop in on him like an old friend and ask him how life is treating him.

She wonders what he's up to, if being Fire Lord is still as crushingly lonely and dangerous as it used to be. How he and Mai are doing. Something like sadness grips her at that last thought, because even though she's long accepted that he chose Mai and sometimes teenage crushes are just that, she can't get over the way Mai treats him, the way he lets her treat him –

"So don't hate me," the bartender interrupts again, only this time his voice is a little nervous.

Katara looks at him with a growing sense of dread. "What did you do?"

The bartender slides another one of the blue drinks over to her – a peace offering if she's ever seen one. "Imayhavetoldhimtocomejoinyou," he mumbles so quickly the words jumble together, throwing his hands up in conciliatory submission, "pleasedon'thateme."

She nearly topples the remains of her first drink over. "You did _what_?" she demands, indignantly aghast.

 _I agreed to no such thing!_ Even if the mysterious stranger sounded nice, she just wanted one night on her own, to enjoy her space and not have to cater to anyone –

But then a voice cuts through her scattered thoughts. A gravelly voice, deeper than she remembers, pitched with confusion and inevitability. "Katara?"

Her jaw drops and she whips her head around so quick she nearly hurts her neck. Sees someone tall standing right behind her, a hand rising up to push a dark draping hood past a mess of dishevelled black hair, the glaring red scar blooming on pale skin in the dim light –

Everything stops. "Zuko?" she chokes out, sputtering everywhere because she's accidentally inhaled her own spit and of course he'd show up just as she was thinking about him, how couldn't he?

He raises a hand awkwardly in greeting, the sight of it so familiar it aches. "Hi?" The look on his face dances between apprehension and hope, as though it isn't really sure what it wants to be yet.

"Hi," she breathes, and to her horror she feels just as clumsy.

"You two _know_ each other?" the bartender demands, thunderstruck.

"Well yeah," Zuko states with a shrug, "old friends, I guess –"

It catches up with her then, the realization lagging in her brain by a heartbeat. "Wait, _this_ is your other –" _cute, newly single…_

To his credit, he plants a hand on his forehead, the bright red blush on his cheeks suggesting that he feels at least as mortified as she does. "That was _you_?" he blurts out in disbelief.

The bartender's clapping his hands together by now. "I've outdone myself this time!" he announces delightedly, before grabbing at the guy sitting on the stool right beside Katara. "Excuse me sir, how would you like to move to a booth?"


	2. holding on

PART TWO. holding on

As quick as though it's magic, the stool next to her is empty and Zuko's slowly settling in next to her.

She picks up the various ways in which he's changed over the years – the face somehow sharper, the hair longer, the lean frame fuller – all in the space of a moment, before he speaks again. "So…"

She sucks in air sharply through pursed lips, watching him set down the amber old fashioned she'd unwittingly sent him. _As if I've been accidentally flirting with him this whole time_. It absolutely beggars belief. Her face is flaming bright red and he doesn't appear in much better condition. "So," she echoes, pushing at the blue martini with restless fingers. "Old friends, huh?"

The uncertainty springs off his face and a small, relieved smile replaces it. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" he asks wryly. "I really didn't expect to…run into you like this, Katara."

"Me neither," she confesses, her mouth unsure of whether to curve into a smile or a nervous grimace. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back in the Fire Nation?"

"Shh," he hushes, eyes darting around nervously. "I'm supposed to be keeping a low profile."

"Oh?" She arches an eyebrow, interest piqued despite herself. She takes him in, properly, plain green clothing obscured by the ridiculous black cloak. "Is that why you're dressed in _that_ getup?"

"You're one to talk," he points out, nodding in amusement at her shirt that bares shoulders and an ample amount of chest on display to the world. His small smile curls into a smirk. "What's up with that?"

She fights the urge to close her eyes and scream. Every part of her is cringing right now, even as her stomach rolls into a couple of somersaults under his swift onceover. "Are you complaining?" she retaliates defiantly even as her cheeks burn. Huffing, she patiently reminds herself that _he_ was the one who started all this by sending a drink to (what could have been) a complete stranger.

He shakes his head but the smirk vanishes. "Not really. Just surprised. This whole evening's been surprising."

She lets out a scoff that turns into a rueful laugh. "Yeah. I'll say." _I did not expect that smooth, mysterious stranger to be you._ The boy she remembers had been both awkward and charming, and based on the way he's fidgeting uncomfortably in his stool, it seems unlikely that the years have changed him that much. She casts a sidelong glance at him, wondering what to say. "How's life?" she settles, somewhat lamely.

He pauses, contemplating the drink in front of him before shrugging absently. "It's fine," he answers vaguely. "How about you?"

She frowns again, a little put out because obviously things aren't fine, otherwise he wouldn't even be here. "I'm okay," she answers carefully, painfully aware that it hasn't even been a minute and here they are, sliding back to that place between familiarity and distress that they tend to occupy. "Not just okay, actually…"

She means to say more. She wants to tell him that she feels freer than she's felt in years, that she's got no idea what to do with herself and it feels terrifying. But it all dies in the back of her throat, because somehow, talking to him has become difficult and when did that even happen?

But to her surprise, Zuko speaks again. "No Aang?" His voice is quiet, almost perfectly even.

"No Aang." Hers quavers a little and she clears her throat before raising her glass to her lips. She isn't sure if her mind is painting the faintest hopeful relief onto his face, or if it's actually there. Hurriedly taking a sip of her drink as though it's courage, she manages to follow through. "No Mai?" It sounds forced to her ears, too casual to be convincing.

The silence that follows is laden with unsaid things. "No Mai," he agrees at last. His voice is heavy, but not exactly sad.

"Oh." The quiet confirmation brings a host of things - long stifled - fluttering to the surface of her chest like butterflies. She pauses, trying to read him and failing, because it's been so long and she's forgotten how. "What happened?" She bites her tongue, wondering if she sounds as impertinent as she feels. "If - if I'm allowed to ask, that is."

He lets out a darkly irritated sigh into his drink, fogging its glass edges. "Of course you're allowed to ask," he mutters almost vehemently, shaking his head as though she's being silly. She tries not to read too much into the way he puts the emphasis on _you're._ He drinks deeply and she focuses on the swell of his throat instead, rising and falling as he swallows. "Nothing happened. Everything was the way it always was and it was never going to get better." He frowns at the cloudy ice cubes melting into clear pools among the tawny remains of his drink. "I think I just got tired." He looks at her then and gives a very sour smile, like he's relishing something extremely tart. "What about you?"

She thinks the expression on her face might rival his. "Me too," she answers, shrugging helplessly. "I guess that's another thing we have in common." The words tumble out of her, puddling in the air between them like all the spilled liquor on the dark wooden bar. She regrets them instantly as the sour look on his face vanishes, replaced by something that could be surprise but feels far more vulnerable.

"I guess," he mumbles at last, turning his gaze back to his drink, evaluating it, possibly wondering whether to order another. "You seem to be taking it okay."

"I…I don't really think it's a bad thing." She bristles at his tone, wondering if he's judging her now. "I mean, Aang and I are different people now." She pauses, eyebrows lowering in thought as she swirls her drink again. "Or maybe we were always like this and it just took this long for me to notice. I don't know. But once it hit me, that he just sort of...adored me without really seeing me or understanding me, it…" she struggles, turning to face his stubborn profile, "it couldn't really go anywhere after that, you know?"

He swallows again, very carefully. "Yeah." He wears a stoic expression, but a little line in his forehead betrays how carefully he's hanging on to her words.

"And, I mean," she continues, her explanation turning into a flood of justifications, because she doesn't owe the world a show of being sullen and brooding when she deserves to be happy after everything, "that's not a bad thing! Something that wasn't going to work out ended. I think its better that way, no? Now Aang is free to find someone who could actually love him, not…" Her words trail off and she gestures vaguely with her hand, "...you know."

"So you think it was a mistake," he says slowly and his eyes are boring into hers now. She isn't used to the intensity of it anymore but then again, it probably isn't directed at her anyway. "That if you had the chance, you wouldn't have been with him at all."

"I wouldn't say that," Katara replies thoughtfully, raising her glass to her lips in thought. She tilts it back, as though she can collect her thoughts in the lingering sharpness of her martini, and in a way it does help take the edge off. "I would say it needed to happen for a reason. There was a lesson I needed to learn about myself, what I wanted - what I needed - and I wouldn't trade that for anything."

He grapples with that, she can see it reflected in his eyes. "All I learned about myself," he scoffs, pulling away in spite of himself, "is that when it comes to Mai, I'm a complete idiot."

"Zuko." Her voice is a quiet reproach and she places a hand on his shoulder to arrest his retreat. He flinches but doesn't shrug her off. "You're being too hard on yourself."

"I'm not," he denies with emphasis, and he's twisting his whole body away from her now. "Her own father tried to have me assassinated and she defended him! And what did I do? I took her back! Like it was nothing. Like everything she did was always nothing." His voice drops and Katara has to strain to hear him over the shimmery music that's far too bright for this conversation. "Like _I_ was nothing."

Something in her flares up wildly at that. She cups him by the face and pulls him back toward her, almost aggressively. "You're not nothing," she tells him fiercely because by all the spirits in the world, she can't believe that he still thinks that way about himself after everything he's done, everything he's become. "You just lost yourself in a relationship with the wrong person. But you broke it off in the end because that's what you do. You fight back, no matter what." She smiles at him, a warm sincere thing that starts somewhere at the bottom of her heart, coloured brightly with all her memories of him. "I've always admired that about you."

She feels his skin grow hot under her touch. There's a smattering of pink dusted across his cheeks as he struggles to hold her gaze. "Th – thank you," he manages to whisper hoarsely, before turning his face away, out of her grip. Stung, she snatches her hand back like she's been burned.

"Don't thank me. It's the truth," she grumbles defensively, crossing her arms across her chest before they betray her again. Curiosity wells up inside her where the surge of fierce protectiveness – _where did that even come from, anyway? –_ slowly ebbs away. "Does that…have anything to do with why you're here sending drinks to other single ladies at an upper-ring bar, instead of," she looks around quickly before leaning closer and dropping her voice to a whisper, "you know, doing your job as Fire Lord?"

His mouth curls into another one of those self-deprecating smirks. "Things became…really tough when I ended it with Mai," he explains, also leaning closer so that she can hear his voice, lowered to a hush. "When Uncle heard, he came home and told me to step back for a bit. Said that I was taking on too much, too early, and I needed a break." She tries not to focus on his mouth too much, the way his lips move to form the words. "He – smoothed it over with my council and everything. He's ruling as regent right now, taking care of things while I…" He wrestles with choosing his next words, strands of long black hair falling every which way into his eyes, "…figure my life out, I guess."

"Oh," is all Katara can really say. She thinks of Uncle Iroh, that warm, loving old man, with fondness and relief – that at least Zuko has someone looking out for his wellbeing. Even if a small part of her is disappointed that she won't get to try Uncle Iroh's tea or hear any of his advice after all. "Wait, he closed down the Jasmine Dragon and everything?"

His smirk widens as he shakes his head, a sharp little laugh rumbling from somewhere in the recesses of his throat. "No, he turned it over to me. Something to keep me occupied while I was gone, he said –"

"Wait. Stop. Hold on." Katara fights to keep her face straight, but it's a little unbelievable and she's inches away from laughter. " _You're_ running the Jasmine Dragon now?"

Her amused disbelief isn't lost on him as he nods, clearly fighting a chortle of his own. "Yup," he deadpans instead. He raises an eyebrow at her, but at least he looks a bit happier now. "You didn't see that one coming, did you?"

"Did I expect to stumble across the Fire Lord secretly working in a teashop in Ba Sing Se while on court-mandated stress leave?" Katara asks incredulously, somehow miraculously managing to keep her voice barely above a hum of a whisper. "I know I'm supposed to be optimistic and all, but even that's a little wild for me."

She catches him flicking another glance at her shirt, so imperceptibly quick she might not have noticed it if she hadn't been paying such close attention to him. Instead, she intercepts his wandering gaze and fixes him with what she hopes is an impressive scowl. "Hey," she warns.

He at least has the good grace to blush and look away when he realizes he's been caught. "Sorry," he mumbles, not really meeting her eyes. "It's just kind of a…wild shirt."

She punches him none-too-gently in the shoulder for that. "I just bought you a drink and gave you some very good advice," she points out, somewhat petulantly. "The least you could do is be nice."

He rubs at his shoulder sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It was just really distracting." He freezes, lets out a slow groan, and claps a hand to his face. "Forget I said that."

Her previous ire dissipates almost instantly. She examines him with a renewed sort of interest, insides fluttering everywhere at the idea that he might find her distracting. "Why?"

"Because I said so," he says stiffly, words squeezing out through the flat of his hand. He heaves in a long slow breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly with an expertise that surely came from years of controlling fire. "What about you? What brings you to Ba Sing Se all of a sudden?"

"Honestly?" She tosses an uncomfortable smile at him, heart knocking against a rib as she does. "I wanted to see your uncle. I could have used a bit of advice." The irony of it all dawns a slow realization across his face. "I guess that's not going to happen now, is it?"

"Yeah…" Zuko winces in apology. "I guess not. I'm sorry to get in the way of your plans like that."

She shrugs, fingers running along the tapered wall of her martini glass. "It's okay. You had no way of knowing."

And besides, it would've been almost poetically fitting to walk into the Jasmine Dragon and spot him there again. But she doesn't voice that idea aloud.

"Is – is there anything I can help with?" he offers after a short, thoughtful silence. Flusters under the sceptical look she gives him, but presses on in determination. "I mean – I'm not my uncle, but – but sometimes I give good advice too…?" He trails off awkwardly before shaking his head and clapping a hand over his forehead in a gesture of self-chastisement that she would rather not try to interpret.

She glances at him again, examining him appraisingly despite herself. "It's not important," she tries to wave it off, her stomach squirming at the thought of bringing up her trifling hopes and fears with him. "Don't worry about it."

"Katara," Zuko says patiently, "you just broke up with your boyfriend and travelled halfway across the world to see my uncle over it. Of course it's important."

With a pang, she remembers how he used to understand what she needed, before she could even realize it herself. Of course he wasn't going to be fooled or let her off the hook so easily.

"I…" she stammers, the weight of how much she's missed him filling her to the brim, "I just have no idea what to do with myself now." Her confession hangs in the air between them. "That last four years were all about whatever Aang wanted. Where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do. And now that I'm trying to move on from that, I – I don't even know where to start." Her voice drops as she hangs her head, eyes downcast. "I felt like such a trophy and what if – what if that's all I am?"

Zuko's eyes widen at her last statement. "Trophy? _You?_ " He shakes his head, smiling faintly as though at some private joke she isn't in on. "That's the craziest thing I've heard all day, and that includes running into you here, by the way."

The hollowness in her chest only amplifies the sound of her heartbeat, making it echo that much louder in her ears. "Maybe the Katara you knew was like that," she laments darkly. "But I don't feel like her at all anymore."

"You're…still the same person," he points out, raising his eyebrow. "Still the same Katara I knew."

She looks up, taken aback at his honesty, but he's gone back to staring at his empty glass. "I don't really think so."

His fingers absently fiddle with the dark cloth of his cloak. "Well, the Katara I knew didn't care much for plans or thinking too far ahead," he states, rather bluntly. "She just sort of…did what she needed to do."

She grimaces. "You make me sound like such an aimless person."

"That's not what I meant," he corrects, and he plies her with the full weight of his gaze. "You're a person of action. You never used to waste time thinking about what you could or couldn't do. You just…did what you wanted, you didn't care about what anyone else said or thought." He shrugs, ignoring the way her mouth hangs slightly open in awe. "Looks like you're doing exactly what you would have back then too…I think."

"I am, aren't I?" she breathes, her face lighting up. _I may be lost but I'm exactly where I need to be._ Relief cascades over her and she sends him a beaming grin filled with gratitude. "Thank you!" She softens her voice and her smile does the same. "That was…exactly what I needed to hear."

He shrugs again but he smiles wanly. "I'm glad I could help you."

"You really are turning into your uncle, aren't you?" she can't help but notice. The similarities are becoming uncanny.

He gives her such an affronted look that she can't help but let out a giggle. "That's a scary thought," he mutters.

"I don't know," she muses, her voice light and teasing. She taps at her chin with a thoughtful finger. "First with the advice, and then the Jasmine Dragon –"

He groans. "I suppose there are worse things…" His face becomes suddenly stern as he faces her. "Don't tell him I said that."

She covers her mouth with a fist, trying in vain to arrange her features into an expression of equal sobriety. "I wouldn't dare," she manages to say before she's able to compose herself. "So what's next for you? Don't you miss home? Or is the joy of running your own teashop too much for you to pass up?"

"Well, it's easier than running a country," he mumbles. "But it's still a lot of work." He runs a hand through the strands of hair falling over his face. "I don't love it, but I'm not sick of it yet. Besides, Uncle's doing such a good job, and I…I'm not in a hurry to go back."

"You must be really tired of it," Katara says gently. Now that she's sitting right next to him and he's leaned in closer, she notices with a sinking feeling in her stomach all the lines on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes, that shouldn't have been there for someone as young as him.

He closes his eyes and nods. "It…isn't what I thought it would be like," he confesses.

"Well, you've been doing so much of it alone," she reminds him.

He gives her a funny look at that. "So have you," he remarks. "What's stopping you from packing up and going back home? Don't you miss your family?"

"I did think about it," Katara admits, her face screwing up a bit. "But if I was to go home, I don't know – between everyone asking about Aang and having to go back to looking after everyone…" Guilt pools in her stomach as she says it, but the truth has never been easy to face. "I just…wanted a bit of time for myself. To figure out what _I_ want to do, without having to take care of anyone else. Even if it's a bit selfish."

"It isn't selfish at all," Zuko counters, scowling at her like she's said something obscene. "Everyone's always relied on you. It's okay to want a break from that. I'm surprised it took you so long to snap."

She gives him a weak smile. "Thanks," she says dryly, but something like affection glows inside her. _If anyone were to understand, I knew it'd be him_. Somehow, in his own brusque way, Zuko's been a lot more helpful – if not quite as eloquent – as his uncle would have been. "You never did, though."

"Did what?" Zuko asks, confused. "Snap?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Rely on me. You never had to. It was nice." She inhales, a hand coming up to touch her neck uncertainly. "Being around you was really nice."

Maybe he can hear the butterflies in the breathless hush of her voice, because he pulls back slightly, face flushed with incredulity and nervousness. "Uh. Right."

She expects him to say more but he remains uncomfortably taciturn. "I mean, you had so much going on too," she backpedals, trying to fill the yawning silence stretching between her syllables. "I don't think I would have been useful, anyway."

Except that wasn't true and she knows it. She remembers sitting with him outside his uncle's tent, patiently talking him into mustering the nerve to face him. Water glowing on her hands, healing the wound atop his heart meant for her. It wasn't reliance but they'd had an understanding nonetheless. Surely…surely all of that _meant_ something to him, it must have.

But he remains infuriatingly silent and she remembers the long years since, melting away seemingly with every word exchanged between them but inevitably returning like frost in early spring mornings. Remembers how even if it meant something to him once, it couldn't have been important enough because, well, here they are.

Resentment crashes through her, filling the hollow spaces and drowning the fluttering things until it feels like there's nothing left, because it _hurts_. Here, so close to opening up, so close to reclaiming their elusively familiar, comfortable camaraderie, only to oscillate back to weighty, prickly silence at the drop of a pin, she wants to scream in frustration. The sting of it hurts more than before, old wounds lanced with the remains of crushed butterflies.

She can't help it. She snaps.

"I'm sorry," she bites out, her voice suddenly icy. "Did I offend you or something?"

He jumps like she's touched him with a live wire. "What? No –"

"Because I don't know if I can do this anymore," she barrels right over his feeble protests and the wounded look in his eyes. "We used to be such good friends, Zuko. What happened to that? How did we lose it?"

"What are you talking about? We _are_ friends –" he counters, his voice coming across a little strangled.

"Give me a break! We can't even talk to each other anymore without things getting awkward!" she interrupts again. "Friends do that. They talk, they let each other in."

"We are talking," Zuko insists, the pink flush on his cheeks now crawling down his neck. "And I do let you in."

"Not like before." Before she can even think about it she's reaching for him, a hand just brushing against the line of his chest where, underneath the cloak and plain green tunic, she knows the star-shaped scar still lingers. "Remember?"

He freezes at her touch, tension winding through him like an elastic band ready to snap. "I remember," he concedes, shattering the heavy silence. His voice is quiet like the calm after a summer storm. Or the deep breath before plunging.

"Then why is it like this?" She's pleading now, hands twining into the folds of green cotton draping over his chest. "Why can't I talk to the one person in this world who I thought could understand me?"

He's shifting under her grip, perhaps trying to get away again. "Katara -" he's saying, his tone of voice one he might have used to calm a wild animal.

"You almost _died_ for me!" The words blurt out like an accusation, festering with four years' worth of repression. Once they're out, there's no taking them back and she plunges onward, consequences be damned. "Stupidly, without thinking – like I mattered to you –" _most. Like I mattered to you the most._

"Katara," he repeats, and one of his hands comes down onto her knee gently, "of course you matter to me."

"So much that you just – walked away from me?" She's alarmed to find hot tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "Walked right back to your perfect Fire Nation girlfriend, without saying a word?"

His eyes widen, the light in them flickering between understanding and dread. "I didn't think you…" His voice rumbles, tiny seismic shocks rocking the earth beneath her feet. "You never said anything either."

" _Say?_ What was I supposed to think?" she grits out, her heartbeat skyrocketing at his closeness and the hand on her leg and the way he's looking at her like she's the only thing in the world now. "What did you expect me to think?"

"I don't know." His confession sounds like it belongs to a boy much younger. He hangs his head, thick bangs shadowing his eyes from her view. "I guess I messed up more than I thought."

She eases her grip on his shirt, but he doesn't back away from her. "What do you mean?" Her voice hitches in her throat as it catches up with her, just how overwhelmed she is, how precarious everything feels. "What do you want from me?"

His head tilts back up, just slightly. She can see his eyes through the dark hair that falls into his face, and how they seem to burn – gold and amber and ochre crackling like the heart of some giant fire. The hand on her leg presses into her thigh, its weight searing at her skin, while his other one comes up to cup the side of her face.

 _Oh_ , she belatedly realizes.

His lips find hers and for a moment, she's stunned, paralyzed by the return of the fluttering things inside her chest and how they seem to be dancing along every one of her nerve endings. Then her hands fist into the front of his tunic and she pulls herself flush against his chest, every part of her melting into him.

His kiss is hungry, insistent, nowhere near as chaste as any of Aang's. The press of his mouth is firm, and from the slide of it against her own she can taste the lingering flavours of whiskey and oranges and tea. His fingers, as callused and warm as she remembers, are gentle where they stroke the line of her jaw, sending fireworks skittering along her senses. _Spirits, I could do this forever._

He breaks away at length, breathing heavily. A small sound erupts from her in response, a little hum of protest in her throat. She opens her eyes, not even aware that they'd been closed the whole time, and focuses on the curve of his mouth, hovering only inches away.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks her in a low voice, its solemnity at odds with the small smile threatening to spread across his face.

Her stomach ties itself in and out of knots as the conflicting urges crash inside her. Does she want to leave the crowded bar and deafening music behind? Yes. Would she like to go somewhere away from prying eyes and kiss him again? Absolutely. Is it a good idea? She can't decide. "Where would you like to go?" she returns, her words clipped with nerves and anticipation mounting almost unmanageably.

He picks up on the way her discomfort spikes and the glowing, precious smile on his face hitches. "Anywhere you want," he insists. "We could go for a walk, or I could make you a cup of tea if you like – I mean, I own a teashop now, I have a lot of experience…"

Her face crinkles up into a smile as he trails off, somewhat abashed. Because even though everything feels suddenly new and different, the earnest rasp of his voice reminds her of everything that's familiar about him, everything she's missed so much. "Tea would be nice," she manages to say through the nervous, giddy laugh sparkling in her throat.

His face splits into a grin, one that manages to reach his eyes – even the scarred one that's always twisted into a glare. The sight of it sends everything in her scampering: thoughts, nerves, pulse, everything. He reaches into his cloak, pulls out enough coins to cover both their orders and then some, and slams them on the dark wooden bar.

"Come on." He pulls her to her feet.

She blinks in surprise. "Aren't you going to ask for change?"

"Nah," Zuko states flatly. "That bartender deserves every coin in that tip for making me sit next to you tonight."


	3. taking root

PART THREE. taking root

She manages to let go of the niggling unease in her mind for a while, all too happy to focus on the welcome distraction of Zuko's warm hand closed firmly around hers as he leads her out of the bar, onto the gently lit street, and through the darkened tearoom of the Jasmine Dragon.

All the time she's known him, and she's never seen him look as happy as he does now, flinging off the hooded black cloak, bustling around in the back room brewing tea. She leans against one of the painted wooden counters, eyes fixed on the heart-stopping smile on his face, the way he occasionally turns back to meet her gaze, as though checking to make sure this all isn't some figment of his imagination.

Not that she blames him. The whole thing feels surreal. All this time, she's been torturing herself with the memories in her head. Now she's here in his teashop, accepting the cup of fragrant, freshly brewed tea he's pressing into her hands. It's so much more than anything in her wildest imagination that she promptly sucks scalding tea down the wrong pipe.

Zuko watches her cough with worried eyes. "…is it that bad?" he asks her anxiously once she's finished coughing half a lung out, eyes flitting between her and the teapot in his hands. "I thought I made it right."

She shakes her head violently. "It's perfect," she forces out hoarsely. His brewing skills have improved immensely since the war, but that's not what she means. Not next to being here with him, or the relief mingling with pride on his face at her compliment, or the stupidly euphoric feeling of having someone take care of her, for once.

"You know, Aang never made me tea," she says slowly, breathing in clouds of fragrant smoke, sipping the delicate gold liquid carefully. "He didn't even know where the leaves were kept."

Zuko's golden eyes meet hers as he replaces the teapot onto the counter, atop a green and gold wicker coaster. "I'll make you tea anytime you like," he replies simply. "If you want."

He steps closer and she leans into him, her skin feeling like it's the only thing stopping her from flying apart into a million ecstatic pieces. His hand moves to gently run through the long strands of wavy hair framing her face. Unbidden, a sigh escapes her at the tenderness of the gesture, and the realization of how much she's wanted this.

 _Whatever this is_.

"Zuko?" she asks, her voice very small as a small stab of fear rears its head.

"Mm?" His lips move against the top of her head, fingers still trailing through her hair.

"You never answered my question," she points out, more than a little apprehensive. She lowers her teacup and turns to face him with inquiring eyes. "What do you want from me? Really?"

He takes a while to answer, but he holds her gaze evenly as he thinks it through, chewing at his lip thoughtfully. "I guess," he admits at last, his voice perfectly steady, "I've always wanted to know you a little better, Katara."

Surprise – slow, spreading, delighted surprise – grips her at that. "Always?" she echoes, not able to hide the note of scepticism that makes its way into her voice.

But when he nods in confirmation, something strikes her as not quite right, adding to the chorus of conflicting thoughts in her head. "Then –" she presses, struggling to vocalize her most obvious question, "then _why_ –"

"Why didn't I say anything? Why Mai?" he finishes for her softly, as though he can read her mind. Sometimes she thinks he can. Wordlessly, she nods her agreement. His hand stills, trapped somewhere in the fall of her hair against her shoulder. "Because the war was over and I was about to become the youngest Fire Lord in over a century and I was scared." He lets out a bitter sigh. "I never made the best decisions when I was scared."

 _You don't have to tell me twice_. She blinks and for a moment everything appears green, as though cast in the phosphorescent glow of the crystal catacombs beneath the city. "Are you scared now?" she whispers, heart pounding somewhere in the region of her throat.

"No," he answers, and the steadfast denial astonishes her.

"Why not?" She's terrified, how can he not be?

"Because things are different now," he explains simply. "There's no taking back my choice back then, but now I know that it was the wrong one."

"How can you know that?" she demands, voice shaky in the wake of how fast her heart beats. "How can you just know?"

Because even if every part of her wants to be here with him, there's still the voice in her head that warns her that it isn't a good idea, that maybe it's too much, that she's made bad choices too and how can she trust her own instincts now?

"Are you scared?" he asks, turning her question back to her.

"Yes," she confesses, her eyes dropping from his face to the stout porcelain teapot sitting on the counter, a faint curl of steam still coiling away from its spout.

After all, her instincts had driven her into Aang's arms because that had felt right at the time, and look how that turned out. How can she know that she isn't about to make a giant mistake again?

"Of what?" His voice doesn't hold any reproach or judgment, only gentle concern. His fingers stroke the back of her head reassuringly, coaxing her fears out of her.

"Of," she struggles to give voice to all the uneasy thoughts spiralling in her mind now, all a slightly different variation on _I don't want you to hurt me_. "I'm scared of you disappearing from my life without another word again. Of being left behind. You're not going to be here forever, right? One day you'll have to go back home and…that scares me. And maybe," she lets out a shaky sigh, chewing on her lip as she continues, "Maybe I'm scared that this is all happening too quick, because the last time we rushed into something, it wasn't the best decision either of us made."

To his credit, he doesn't tell her that she's being hysterical or unreasonable or overly sensitive. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and hugs her close. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs into her ear, and she's trembling because it's what she hasn't even dared to want to hear him say. "I didn't think about you, or how you might have felt. I should have." He sighs again. "I wish I'd known better, but if you let me, I can prove myself to you." His eyes find hers, a solemn promise glimmering in their depths, "I won't leave you this time. Not unless you want me to."

She meets his eyes, a new sense of calmness flooding over her as she decides. Because if there's one thing Katara doesn't doubt, it's that Zuko would move mountains to prove himself worthy of her trust.

"I think I'd like to know you a little better too," she tells him. His eyes light up, so bright they might outshine the sun and the crashing disquiet in her fades at the sight of it. "But…maybe…it'd be nice to kind of take things slow?"

The beatific, glowing smile is back on his face. "I could do slow," he affirms. She can feel his heart beating slowly in time to hers. "Slow sounds great."

She grins, raising her teacup to her lips as he presses a kiss to her temple. "And I'm not leaving here anytime soon," he assures her. "So you don't have to worry about… what comes next for a while, I guess."

"About that," Katara speaks up, a new wave of ideas hitting her seemingly all at once. "I didn't plan on staying very long in Ba Sing Se. What would I even do here? And I can't stay with Sokka and Suki forever, I'd have to find a place of my own eventually…"

"Sokka and Suki are in the city too?" Zuko asks, stunned. "Since when?"

"About a month, I think," Katara answers, pursing her lips in thought. "They just moved in to an apartment on the middle ring. It's cute, but on the cramped side for three people."

"Good for them," he comments softly. "What are they doing here? I thought Sokka was supposed to be helping with things back in the South Pole. And I didn't think anything would tear Suki away from Kyoshi again."

"Well, Suki's working for King Kwei at the palace," Katara explains, setting down her empty cup on the counter.

"As his bodyguard?" Zuko guesses. He reaches for the teapot, still steaming, and refills her cup without another word.

"As one of his councillors, actually," Katara corrects. "She's representing Kyoshi Island on some internal committee." She picks up the newly refilled cup and nods at him thankfully.

He replaces the pot on its coaster, leaning against the counter. "I hope she's as good at it as she was a bodyguard."

"She loves it. And Sokka's doing a stint at our embassy here." Her words earn a sceptical eyebrow twitch from Zuko. "I know, I thought the same thing when Dad wrote to tell me about it. Sokka isn't exactly diplomatic _._ But he made loads of connections in the Earth Kingdom during the war, especially when planning the invasion, and he's been surprisingly useful to our ambassador." She slumps mournfully. "Both of them are so busy, and meanwhile I don't even know how to make myself useful anymore."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Zuko asks her, as though it's obvious.

"I don't know." She chews at her lip. "I kind of wanted to go to the Northern Water Tribe and see Yugoda, learn how to heal properly…"

She expects him to flinch from the idea and talk her out of it. After all, she already knows how to heal well enough, and the North Pole is bleak and distant, and she'd be so far away…

"If that's what you want to do," he responds, patting her encouragingly on the shoulder, "then you should do it."

"Really?" she blurts out, shocked. "But it's so far. You'd never see me."

He shrugs, unfazed. "So? Knowing you, it wouldn't take any time at all to master it. You'd be back before I even noticed you were gone, I'll bet."

She opens and closes her mouth ineffectually, trying and utterly failing to find words as she gapes at him. "You mean that," she realizes, floored.

"Of course I mean it," he answers brusquely. "Katara, I saw you take down my sister at the height of Sozin's Comet." Weariness enters his voice as he reaches up to rub at his temples. "I wouldn't ever bet against you."

Her eyes are suddenly very watery and there's a lump tightening the back of her throat. _I think I could love you._ She presses a hand to her chest, reminding herself to breathe. "But what would I do after that?" Her voice sounds raw as it scrapes out of her mouth.

"You'll figure it out," he assures her, his voice light. "You could open a school and teach, you could join your brother working for the ambassador –"

She wrinkles her nose. "I don't want to step on Sokka's toes."

"Then come back with me to the Fire Nation and be _our_ ambassador," Zuko retorts without missing a beat. "The one we have right now is lousy anyway."

A coughing fit possesses her entirely at that last suggestion. "Me? An ambassador? Get out of here, Zuko, you're dreaming."

"I think you'd be great," he maintains stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest. "But if you don't want to, that's fine."

"It's not that I don't want to," she points out doubtfully, "it's just – I mean – what do I know? I mean, I'm only nineteen for crying out loud!"

"I was younger than that when I became Fire Lord," Zuko reminds her. "The world didn't end."

She hesitates. He pushes off the counter and steps back to her, cupping her face with his hands.

"At least think about it," he suggests. "I really think you could pick it up if you wanted to."

"I…" It isn't a bad idea, if she's perfectly honest with herself. Terrifying but alluring. "I just think it's a little intense," she answers weakly. "I mean, I came here looking for a bit of a break. The last thing I want is to uproot myself and dive headfirst into Fire Nation politics." She smiles at him apologetically. "No offense."

"Believe me, I'm more sick of Fire Nation politics than you are," he informs her in his rough voice, and she smirks at the imperceptible roll of his eyes. "I wasn't saying to go right away. None of this is urgent. Like I said," he adds, and there's a glint in his eye that intrigues her, "I don't think I'm leaving Ba Sing Se anytime soon."

"You seem awfully confident about that," Katara says dubiously, as his hands drop from her face to trail down the line of her arms. Shivers course through her.

"Well, I had an idea the other day," Zuko tells her, and there's an ill-concealed excitement on his face. It makes her warm to see it. "Uncle Iroh liked it too. See, I haven't been to school since I was banished and the university in Ba Sing Se is the best in the world." A grin splits his face. "So I was thinking of studying here for a while."

For the second time that night, Katara accidentally inhales a lungful of tea.

"I mean," he continues slowly, evidently somewhat put out by her reaction, "it isn't without precedent. And besides, the Fire Nation would obviously benefit from a more learned head of state, and it would also be a huge compliment to the Earth Kingdom if I chose to study here instead of in my own country…"

"I think it's brilliant," she manages to tell him through her hacking breaths. "It's just – Zuko – I can't imagine you as a _student_."

"Yeah," he agrees, rubbing at the back of his head quizzically. "It'll be a change. But an improvement, I think."

"You're going to be so busy," she informs him, setting down her teacup and placing her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers trace the ornate gold embroidery on the collar of his green tunic. "Doing all that on top of running the teashop."

He flashes a crooked smile at her and it flips her stomach over. "Yeah, I might need to hire some more people to help me out," he returns, his voice amused. "Do you need a job?"

A sudden sharp peal of laughter bursts out of her throat as she imagines it. "It's a tempting offer," she says, only half-joking, "but the last thing I need is people thinking that I'm trying to sleep my way to the top."

He raises his good eyebrow at her quizzically. "But…you just said you wanted to take things slow?"

"I do!" she corrects, face flaming. "It was a joke."

"Right." His arms snake around her waist and pull her in. "Clearly Sokka got the family sense of humour."

She fights the urge to stick her tongue out at him, but settles instead for resting her cheek against his shoulder, hands pressed flat against his chest, right over the star-shaped scar and his faithfully beating heart. "Well, you probably remember how awful his jokes were, so I guess there wasn't that much to go around."

"I'll bet," he murmurs as he rests his chin on top of her head, but there's a warm fondness in his voice nonetheless.

She meets his eyes somewhat impishly. "I thought you said you'd never bet against me."

It comes out like a reproach, but he lets out a small chuckle and she understands that with Zuko, she doesn't have to worry. "For that," he says very solemnly, words muffled into her hair, "I might have to make an exception."

Maybe, just maybe, she won't ever have to worry again.


End file.
